How can I be expected to work with this happening? This has been a fantastic baseball postseason so far—swarms of locusts descending on the Yankees, Manny Ramirez putting the emphatic in walkoff, the Yankees clawing back in it, Josh Beckett and Curt Schilling pitching like Koufax and Drysdale, small markets knocking off Chicago and Philadelphia, the Rockies. The Rockies!? A good baseball story always has backstory (see Red Sox, 2004), and it’s hard to convey how strange this run has been without remembering what a futile franchise the Rockies have been. When Coors field was built, the team and the place revitalized downtown Denver. But years of mediocrity were beginning to define the franchise. To watch over the past month as they have made one of the most amazing runs in baseball (18-1 to end the season!) is the type of thing that renews my love of the sport. And they are playing beautiful baseball. We went to the game on Saturday night (I bought tickets when they first went on sale a few weeks ago, thinking that I liked the Rockie chances of making it). Finally, that beautiful stadium—that stands empty most of the summer and every fall—was filled, electric. We walked out the front doors onto Blake St. after the team had just won its first postseason series in its history and that long-neglected building had life. Much has been said about the Rockies having no history, but what a moment to be there as it was unfolding.
Truly no sport can provide the in-game narrative of postseason baseball. While some casual fans argue that baseball is too slow, I agree with Donald Hall who writes about how baseball’s magic develops through its unique lack of time, because unlike other sports, baseball has no clock. Baseball gnaws at you. It’s day after day of watching standings, waiting. It’s the time in between the pitches, the way the possibilities change in each instant. And then the release of emotion.

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